


Edgar the Fifth

by Missing_Intestines_18



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 10:43:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1645796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missing_Intestines_18/pseuds/Missing_Intestines_18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turns out they were right about Ryan the whole time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Edgar the Fifth

**Author's Note:**

> Jesus Christ on a pogo stick. This has been in the making since August.
> 
> This one boasts 6,559 words and took quite a bit of research. Ryan doesn't talk much about his family life, and I thank the old gods and the new that he mentioned his wife in the Game of Life let's play. Funny thing is, I had made up her name as "Lauren" originally, and then Ryan referred to her as "Laurie." Damn, I'm good.
> 
> It's fucking hard writing characters, especially if they're based off real people. Tell me if I fucked up too bad.
> 
> It's 3:55am and I have to get up to drive my sister to her soccer game in a few hours so my parents can go see the premiere of my uncle's movie up in New York (it's called Ink and Steel, check it out; he's the scary gangster guy).
> 
> Comment, por favor! I've been in an odd mood lately and I want some encouragement!

The last thing Ray remembered was parting-drinks with the other lads. It was the last week of July, and the beginning of the Rooster Teeth hiatus.

It seemed everyone had plans; Gavin flying across the pond to see his parents, Michael and Lindsay taking a road trip to Jersey, Geoff and Griffon taking Millie to Disney World, Jack off with Caiti down under. Even Courtney was seeing friends in Phoenix.  The Achievement Hunters would be out of state for two weeks; everyone, that is, except Ray and Ryan.

Ryan was the least in-the-group of the Hunters. None of the others really saw him outside of work. They knew he lived in the suburbs of Austin with his son and now-pregnant wife—both having met the Rooster Teeth staff once or twice. And, because of his seclusion, Ryan was the subject of playful speculation of his out-of-work activities—mainly the possibility of him being a serial killer. But it was all in good fun. Of course, Ryan _wasn’t_ a psychopath; he was too human. He had a wife and kid. Sure, Dexter Morgan had had Rita and Harrison, but that was fictional.

So Ray was alone. He toyed with the idea of hanging out with Ryan, playing some Xbox or PC games or whatever. But he thought it may get weird with just the two of them, and he figured Ryan would want to spend time with his family.

As he sat sipping juice as Gavin and Michael drank beer, Ray thought glumly about the lonely days before him. He could beat a few more games, surely, but his Gamerscore of over 350,000 didn’t really need more points. _Looks like two weeks of porn and pizza for me._

It wasn’t too late when the lads decided to part ways. Gavin and Michael had to get up early for their various modes of travel, and Ray himself was a bit tired. He grabbed his newly-acquired bike— he had stashed behind a dumpster due to lack of bike rack—and rode off into the darkening dusk.

It was a short ride from the bar to Ray’s little apartment. He had just dismounted his bike when he caught a whiff of something sweet and heard quick steps behind him. He began to turn when his thin frame was bound by strong arms and the sweet smell was in his face, and he automatically drew in a deep breath, sucking in the scent from the cloth over his nose and mouth. Ray kicked and tried to break free, but his strength was already fleeing his body as the chemicals took over.

_Chloroform, huh? How cliché._ His vision blurred as he lost consciousness.

\--

“It puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again.”

Words. Ray could hear again.

He wrenched open his eyes, dizzy, and his brain throbbed.

The light was dim, and he was blind. _Glasses._ He found them lying next to him, thankfully unbroken, and he swiftly put them on and looked around as his eyes adjusted.

He was sitting propped against a brick wall in a small room that seemed to have no doors. His eyes travelled up the walls.

_The fuck…?_

He was in a pit.

An actual fucking hole in the ground, twelve feet deep.

And at the lip of the hole, Ryan grinned down at Ray, his head resting on his folded arms.

“Hey, Ray.”

“Ryan. Hi.”

Ray stood and tried to wrap his head around the situation. He had been abducted and put in a pit. A very neatly kept pit. And Ryan was responsible.

He smiled. _A joke_. Ryan was fucking with him, giving Ray, and by extension the other lads and gents, what he wanted—a serial killer-esque persona.

“So this is where you live, huh?” Ray called up to Ryan. “I gotta tell you, I expected a replica of Buffalo Bill’s place. Stones and dirt and baskets and shit.”

Ryan laughed. “Nah. That’s copyright infringement. I spent too much money and effort on this room to be sued for it.”

Ray chuckled too, but… something wasn’t right here. Why _had_ Ryan expended all this work just for a prank? The walls were perfectly level, the corners perfect right-angles. Not a brick out of place. It was unnerving.

“So, uh… wanna get me the fuck out of here? I could go for some Halo and take-out,” Ray said with a chuckle, faintly laced with anxiety.

Ryan grinned. “Not just yet. You’re the first person I’ve held while knowing them personally. I’ll go get take-out, though, if you’re hungry. Lo Mein and beef teriyaki, right?” The older man stood and left the space of vision allotted to Ray by the hole.

A door shut, and the room was silent. Ray stared at the ceiling for a long time. He was thoroughly confused. _You’re the first person I’ve held while knowing them personally._ Ray had to applaud Ryan for his acting and dedication to the character.

But there was doubt in Ray’s mind. He could feel the anxiety spreading in his limbs. _The first person I’ve held._ Something about those words, the sincerity with which he said them, his static expression, made them completely believable. _And this hole… who the fuck has a hole in their basement?_ Secret rooms and torture pits were the creations of Hollywood, not aspects of reality. And even if they were, Ryan was not a man the kind of man to build such a pit, to kidnap people and hold them captive.

But then again, here Ray was, still a bit dizzy from the chloroform and surrounded by walls.

_No way in, no way out._

Ray laughed in spite of himself. Ryan was just fucking with him. He was a funny guy, and this prank was hysterical.

_If it_ is _a prank._

The yo-yoing thoughts were making Ray even more light-headed. He slumped against the wall and sat heavily. The cement floor was cool against his calves.

\--

Ryan returned half an hour later. Not that Ray would know; left to steep in his thoughts, time had no meaning. It could have been five minutes, or five hours. His brain was hyperactive with speculations and bafflement.

Some degree of fear as well.

Surely Ray was a fool for even considering the fact that Ryan may be completely serious. Surely he was stupid for thinking that maybe Ryan has done this before. Surely this was a stupid joke, and he’d be home before sun up.

_You’re the first…_

_The_ first _…_

Surely Ray was a fool for thinking this was a joke.

The crinkling of a paper bag made Ray look up. A plastic bucket was making its decent down the hole.

Surely Ryan was kidding.

“So where’s Precious?” Ray asked, playing along. Inside, his veins felt like live wires.

“My dogs are too big for baskets,” Ryan said. “We have cats, though. Cindy and Dave.”

Ray forced a laugh. The bucket hit the floor with a soft _thud._ Ray could smell hot Chinese food.

Well, he _was_ hungry, and since Ryan so nicely offered…

He crawled over and removed the bag and a bottle of Mountain Dew. As he dug into the Lo Mein, he saw Ryan sit down at the lip of the pit, his legs dangling down.

“Thanks for the chow,” Ray said between bites. “I must be the most well-fed captive you’ve had.”

“Yeah, actually,” Ryan said. “Usually I don’t give them anything but water. But I want to be nice, since you’re my friend. And this is only an experiment, after all.”

_He’s joking._

“An experiment, huh?” Ray took a gulp of soda. “What do you mean? Do you usually take chicks or something?”

“Nah, I don’t discriminate,” Ryan replied. “I’ve wanted to try something like this for a while. I wondered what it’d feel like to hold someone I knew.”

“How’s it feel?”

“Not sure yet. Besides, this is only day one.”

Ray stared. “What, you’re gonna keep me here all week?”

“Well, yeah. Unless I decide I feel like I do with the others. Then you may not last the week.”

In his chest, Ray’s heart battered his ribs like a fly trapped in a jar.

“I’ve had a few that’ve lasted long enough that I had to take care of them myself before trouble started,” Ryan continued, “but the usual time is about five days.”

“What… what do you mean?”

Ryan smiled down at him. “You’re taking this rather well, y’know. Are you suicidal or something?”

“No, no,” Ray said quickly. “Of course not.”

“Someone in your position usually screams for help or tries to escape.”

Ray felt a sudden flare of anger. “C’mon, Ryan, this isn’t fucking funny anymore. Let me out.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “You think this is a joke?”

Anger to apprehension. “Of course it is. Listen, you’re a great actor and all, but enough already.

A bark of laughter. “I can assure you, Ray, I’m dead serious. You’re not going anywhere—not yet, anyways. I might not like how this feels. But for now, no way in, no way out.”

_No way in, no way out._

_No way out._

Ray’s words sounded so wrong coming from Ryan’s mouth.

Temper and trepidation. “The fuck am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“Whatever you want. I can send down my old laptop so you don’t get bored. I have a bunch of singleplayers on Steam.”

“What the hell am I, Edgar Five?”

“Well, Edgar _is_ the one in the hole.”

“I have to take a piss.”

“You have a bucket, don’t you?”

Ray was genuinely scared now.

Ryan got to his feet. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

The door closed behind him. Ray was alone once more.

\--

_This is a dream. A fucking dream. That juice I drank was past expiration date. Bad juice can give you fucked up dreams, right?_

Ray pinched his arm. Then he pounded his thighs with his fists and yanked his short hair.

Pain. This was reality.

And Ray was almost sure Ryan was being honest.

_He’s insane. He’s been a fucking looney-tunes from the get-go. He doesn’t care about us, he doesn’t have any feelings, he just wants to kill._

_He’ll kill me._

_I’m gonna die._

Ray screamed.

Panic overtook his mind. He yelled and roared until his throat was raw and no sounds came out. Tears streamed from his eyes. He overturned the bucket Ryan had sent down to him and stood on it, jumping, trying to find any crack in the wall to pull himself up and out of the hole. He clawed at the wall until his nails tore and bloodied. Then he screamed some more.

_No way in, no way out._

Ray collapsed, curling up on the smooth floor and cried himself dry. Then he closed his eyes. Forgotten in the corner, the Lo Mein and teriyaki grew cold.

\--

A _thud_ inches from his face.

Ray woke with a start, his eyes focusing to find one of his old duffel bags lying beside him.

“Got some of your clothes.”

The captive (fucking _captive_ ) pushed himself up. Ryan had sat down again near the edge of the hole, this time with a chair and a diet Coke. He tilted the can towards Ray. “Want one?”

“No… I’m good…” Ray’s cheeks felt stiff from the dried tears. “Ryan…”

“What’s up?”

The weeping threatened to restart. “Ryan… please let me go…”

“So you get it now.”

“Please.” Ray’s voice broke. “Please, Ryan… I’m your friend. You don’t have to do this. And I won’t tell anyone, I swear. I’ll even help you, if you want.” His voice kept rising with every word, and he was soon shouting shrilly.

“No, thanks. I’m a bit of a lone wolf.”

“Please, PLEASE!” He was now screeching. “Don’t kill me, it’s not worth it, they’ll look for me, you’ll get found out!”

“I’m not going to kill you, Ray.”

“Then _why_?”

“I told you why,” Ryan sighed, taking a swig of soda.

“Why _me_?”

Ryan smiled. “The stars aligned, Ray. Everyone was leaving Austin. Laurie and Eli went to go visit my mother-in-law. It’s just you and me.”

“You’re a fucking _psycho_ , Ryan…” Ray sat against the wall.

“I get that a lot.”

“From your fucking _victims?”_ Ray asked bitterly. “How many came before me?”

“Seven.”

“And you killed them all. You’re fucking sick.”

“I didn’t kill them. They killed themselves. Mostly.”

Ray looked up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“That,” Ryan grunted as he stood from his chair, “is a tale for tomorrow. It’s late, and I’m a bit tuckered out. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“ _Ryan_!” Ray hollered at Ryan’s retreating back. “Don’t you fucking leave me down here, motherfucker! _Ryan_!”

“Good night, Ray.” Ryan shut off the light.

\--

Fajitas and soft-shell tacos.

Ryan had brought him Taco Bell.

“Sorry I didn’t come earlier,” Ryan said after lowering the food. “It was around three when I finally got to bed.”

Ray said nothing.

They were quiet as Ray ate. Ray had given up fighting—surprisingly quick, in Ryan’s opinion—and given up brooding as well. He reasoned it that is was no use. He accepted that Ryan was, in fact, an insane serial killer and that he himself was a victim to said killer.

He was curious, however, of what Ryan had said before about him not actually killing his captives. He hoped to get some answers out of Ryan, and throwing his food against the wall and screaming again wouldn’t help his case.

_You catch more crazies with submission than vinegar._

Ray crinkled up the food wrappers and tossed them in the lowered bucket. Ryan pulled it back up.

“Wanna tell me what you were talking about yesterday?” Ray murmured, leaned against the wall and looking up at Ryan.

_Christ, I’m tired…_

“What about?”

“You not killing people.”

“Right…” Ryan settled into his chair like a library volunteer during story time. “Hmm… It’s hard to explain. It’s like… I don’t see death like other people see it. I’m not suicidal or anything, but I just don’t find it very scary. I like to see how people react when put in a situation where their only choice is to die.”

Ray’s throat felt dry as bone. He tried to swallow. “So… what do you do?”

“I put them in my pit,” Ryan replied, “and basically starve them.”

“Oh.”

“But there’s more to it. They have a choice to make, and I like to see what they choose. It really tells a lot about a person.

“But I thought you said—“

“No, their choices aren’t whether they live or die,” Ryan smiled. “It’s how they do it that really interests me.”

Headache. Ray took off his glasses and placed them at his side, then rubbed at his eyes.

“What I do,” Ryan continued, “is offer them a choice. They can either starve to death in my pit, or—” he paused and raised a pistol into Ray’s field of vision, “—they can end it quickly.”

Ray stared. “I don’t understand.”

Ryan looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well… a person like me isn’t exactly altogether here,” he said, tapping the glinting weapon against his temple, “and I'm really not sure how _I_ would react if I were put in a situation like this. And while the adrenaline that person’s final moment provides gives me shivers, I mostly take people to see what… hmmm… _reaction_ is most human.”

“Then why not just make up a goddamn _poll_ like a normal person?” Ray nearly shouted. The bout of anger sent fire across his brain.

“Because I’m not normal. But I want to be.”

“What do _you_ care about being fucking normal?” he asked quietly.

“Ray,” Ryan sighed, “Contrary to popular belief, people like me don’t kill just for shits and giggles. Well,” he added hastily, “most of us.” He gazed down at Ray’s huddled form. “Ray… I don’t want to be this way. It was chance that I was born fucked in the head. I want to be part of the majority. I want to be able to _feel_ things completely. Love, hate. All that philosophical shit.”

“What about Laurie and Eli?”

Ryan furrowed his brow. “Laurie… it’s weird. I felt something different when I was with her. And I guess it was positive. And then Eli came, and I was so shocked I could create normal life like that.” Ryan smiled. “And now we have another along the way. So I guess I feel for them my equivalent for love.”

“And what about us?”

“Well… I haven’t known you guys as long, but… I feel a certain level of attachment to you five. I feel almost ordinary with you.”

Ray grimaced. He couldn’t tell if he was angry with Ryan or angry with all of them for not seeing that their co-worker was seriously a whackjob—or, at least, took action to confirm their suspicions. “Then why the fuck am I in this pit, Ryan?”

“I told you, Ray. I wanted to see if I’d actually let someone I knew personally die. You, especially.”

“Me, especially.” Ray repeated.

“Yeah, I don’t know what it is. My feelings for you are closest to Laurie and Eli’s. Maybe it’s our _connection_ ,” Ryan said with a smile, meaning it as a joke.

“Shut up,” Ray said coldly.

“Sorry.”

Quiet again.

“Was Buffalo Bill your inspiration or some fuck?” Ray muttered.

“I saw _Silence of the Lambs_ when it came out, and I guess I did admire him. Not for his ideas and motive, of course, but for his _creativity._ I was frustrated up until then with how my brain worked and how I didn’t have an outlet or whatever. I was fresh out of college, where I’d taken a bunch of psychology courses to try and understand what the fuck my mindset was. ‘Til then, I’d never done anything.” Ryan finished his beer and opened another. “I couldn’t do anything for a while, but I knew I needed to before I did something irrational.”

“Well, _this_ isn’t very fucking rational…”

Ryan ignored him. “I tried making a pit in the woods, but I figured I’d get found out quick. Then found an abandoned house with a bomb shelter near where I lived and that’s where I held the first two. Until I started, there was an itch I just couldn’t scratch. First time, and it was scratched. Then it started again. At first it was about the power I felt, but then I got curious, and gave them the choice. After the two—who I just ended up starving—I started giving the choice. Three starved. Five and six shot themselves. Four and seven…” Ryan smiled fondly. “Four and seven fought on until I was worried they would get someone’s attention so I shot them myself. Those two were my favorite.”

Ray felt nauseous.

“Anyways,” Ryan concluded, “after number three, I had this house built for me and Laurie. I helped with construction myself while she stayed with her parents. After it was done, I began the pit.” Ray could hear the nostalgia in his voice. “It took me nearly a month and over $700, but I got it done. Sound-proof, escape-proof, and hidden.”

“Christ…” Ray breathed.

Ryan was grinning. “I think you’re the only one who I’ve told all that to. It feels good to get it all out.”

“Does that mean you’ll have to kill me?”

“Because I told you everything?” Ryan thought for a second. “I guess that makes you more dangerous if I let you go, but… I trust you, Ray,” he said with a smile. “I know you wouldn’t sell me out. None of you would. Well, except Gavin, maybe. The pussy he is.”

_Don’t be so sure about me,_ Ray wanted to say, but he didn’t want to give Ryan more of a reason to kill him.

\--

Ryan went to go run errands after a while. He left Ray with pillows, blankets, and a fresh piss-bucket after Ray complained of fatigue.

Ray didn’t know why he was so tired. He had slept so long already. His body just felt so weak…

_Well, that’s just fucking great. I’m getting sick._

Come to think of it, he _had_ been feeling pretty shitty lately, even before Ryan put him in the hole. Coughing and getting headaches. He could feel the chill settling into his bones.

_Flu. Goddammit._

That wasn’t good. If it _was_ the flu, an already hellish week was about to turn uglier than hung-over Geoff when the company fridge wasn’t stocked.

Ray had never handled illness very well. Sure, he rarely caught anything, but when he did, it’s as if HIV and hemophilia were having an orgy in his blood stream. It hit him like a ton of bricks. He had gotten the flu twice before, when he was younger, and both times he was bedridden for a week. Nausea, dehydration, fever, sweating—the whole nine yards.

_And now I’m in a fucking pit at the mercy of Buffalo Bill. Well, shit._

He curled on the floor under the blanket and prayed the symptoms would pass.

\--

It was around eleven when Ryan returned, this time bearing pizza.

“Ray,” he called down, “Pizza. I got you pepperoni.”

Below him, Ray was curled on the floor. _Sleeping._

“Ray?” he tried again, putting down the pizza and squinting at his captive in the dim light. “You okay?”

Ray didn’t answer. _Shit._

Ryan groaned and turned to get the ladder. He really hoped Ray was just asleep. Otherwise, this could get complicated.

The bottom of the pit was cold. Ryan had never really noticed the subterranean chill.

“Ray,” he said, squatting down and touching his shoulder. He could feel Ray trembling. His face was flushed and through parted lips came ragged breaths.

“Goddammit…” Ryan murmured. He scrambled up the ladder, and, after rushing around his house for a few minutes, came back with a couple more blankets and pillows and a thermometer. After tucking the passed out Ray in, he took his temperature. _102.7._ Probably more, as Ray’s mouth was ajar.

He sighed and pushed Ray’s short bangs from his burning forehead. His skin was sticky with sweat. _What do I do now? I can’t move him like this. I don’t want him to die down here like this…_

Ryan paused. No, he didn’t want Ray to die. He didn’t like having a friend in the hole. He was even worried about Ray’s health. But it may progress to Ray needing medical attention, and Ryan couldn’t bring him anywhere. Ray might worsen. _He might tell._

“Wake up,” he whispered to Ray, shaking his shoulder. Ray groaned and coughed, forcing open bleary eyes and squinting up at Ryan.

“Ryan,” Ray croaked. “Might I have that gun now?”

Ryan rubbed his mouth, deep in thought. It seemed Ray was even worse than he’d first thought. It was pathetic, the younger man lying on the floor, darkening the concrete with perspiration. Ryan felt something that translated into pity furrow his brow.

“What can I do? How do I make you better?” he asked. Something akin to panic clung to his words.

Ray rasped out a chuckle. “Not much,” he managed. “Mama Narvaez always knew what to do… but hell if I remember how she fixed me. I was half-delirious.” He coughed and shuddered.

Ryan scoured his brain for flu remedies. Chicken soup, hot baths, cough syrup…

Eli had been sick a couple times before, but it had never been more than an earache or a stomach bug, swiftly taken care of by Laurie. Ryan needed to do some research, but he was reluctant to leave Ray alone in his condition. He had no choice, though, seeing how the pit was purposefully cut off from all forms of communication, including his Wi-Fi.

Ray’s moans echoed in the hole. Ryan moved Ray into a more comfortable position and stood. “I’ll be back,” he assured the feeble creature at his feet. “I won’t let you die. I promise.”

What an interesting turn of events, a serial killer trying to preserve the life of a victim. Ryan was determined not to let Ray slip away.

He climbed the ladder quickly and hurried to his computer.

\--

_What a sorry sight I must be, lying here._

His insides were liquefying. Perhaps the best medicine _would_ be a bullet in his brain.

There was an itch on his neck, but Ray couldn’t move. The only time he did was to vomit his undigested Taco Bell into the provided bucket, and afterwards, he couldn’t find the energy to get back under the blankets. His torso was exposed. The cool ground felt good on his cheek, but his glasses were askew and a little bile rested on his lips. He tried to spit it off, but only managed to dribble some pukey drool onto the floor, where it pooled enough to touch his face.

_Fucking gross._

Ray heaved a labored breath and closed his eyes. He prayed Ryan could pull some kind of remedy out of his ass. He really didn’t want Courtney and his friends to return to a miserable corpse at the bottom of a pit like a bug that had been trapped between a window and a screen and left to rot.

_If I die, it should be in a bed of roses with all my friends around me._ Well, perhaps the roses were a little much, but certainly he deserved a better venue than this.

And deep in his psyche, he found that he didn’t want Ryan to take the fall for a death that wasn’t his fault, in spite of the fact that it _was_ Ryan’s fault he was in this situation to begin with. He thought he’d heard some feeling hiding in Ryan’s recent words.

_I mean, I guess it’d be cool to be the one to make a kook feel._ But he’d like to live to be able to hear Ryan admit defeat.

Ray fought the remaining stomach acid creeping up his esophagus. He didn’t think he could make it to the bucket again and he didn’t want Ryan to have to clean up his mess, not with him so focused on rehabilitating Ray.

_He’s my friend, after all._

\--

Ryan scribbled furiously on an envelope, taking notes on flu remedies. He already had some soup heating in the microwave and an array of pharmaceuticals strewn across the desk.

_I can fix him. I’m sure._

But was he really? Ray looked pretty damn bad, like the dying dogs and cats Ryan had seen when visiting the animal hospital where Laurie worked. 

_No. I can make him better._

Ryan gathered his supplies in a laundry basket—the meds, the soup, water, blankets and towels and a small battery-powered humidifier, a pillow for himself. He decided Ray would receive the upmost care, which included Ryan staying by his side 24/7 unless it was absolutely necessary to leave him. He didn’t care if he caught Ray’s flu; he’d always had a strong immune system anyways. All he cared about was restoring Ray’s vitality, making him hale and hearty and happy.

His phone rang. Ryan groaned and put the basket on the table, then fished his cell from his pocket.

It was Laurie. _“Hey! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you, what’ve you been up to?”_

Despite the urgency of the situation, Ryan was glad to hear his wife’s voice. “Sorry, been hanging out with Ray a lot. Everyone else is gone.”

_“That’s good! I’m glad you’re socializing—hang on, Eli wants to say hi.”_

After a few fumbling sounds at the other end of the line, Ryan heard his toddler’s jumbled words. _“Dadda?”_

“Hey, kid,” Ryan replied with a smile.

He heard Laurie prompting their son. _“Dadda… missu.”_

“I miss you too, buddy.”

_“Luvvu!”_

“I love you too. Put mommy back on, okay?”

After a moment, Laurie returned. _“He’s been quite a handful. Wish you were here, you’re so much better with him than I am.”_

“Well, you _did_ forget his favorite blanket…”

_“Oh, hush, mister perfect.”_

Ryan looked at his watch. Ray had been alone for 12 minutes. “Lau, I gotta run. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

His wife sighed. _“Yeah, yeah. Say hi to Ray for me.”_

“Gotcha. Love you.”

_“Love you too.”_

Ryan hung up and nearly ran to the cellar.

He felt a pang of something synonymous to guilt in his gut upon finding Ray’s limp figure. He re-tucked Ray in and quickly cleaned the puke-filled bucket upstairs, returning to find Ray struggling to roll over.

“No, no, no,” Ryan urged. He helped Ray to his preferred side. “Don’t strain yourself. If you need anything, just ask.”

Ray let out a raspy chuckle. “Nurse Ryan, huh? You gonna feed me and wipe my ass too?” he mumbled.

“If that’s what it takes to get you better, then yeah. Now, you need to eat. I brought something that may agree with you better than Taco Bell.”

Ryan removed the container of soup from the basket, and after covering Ray with another blanket and propping him up a little, sat next to him.

He spooned some of the broth and brought it to Ray’s mouth. “Open up.”

Ray’s already pallid face gained a greenish hue. “Ryan,” he groaned, “I can’t fucking eat. Just let me sleep…” He began shimmying back down.

“The internet says you have to eat,” Ryan said firmly. It took very little force to halt Ray’s downward progress and drag him back up. He poked at Ray’s lips with the spoon. “So eat.”

His demand was met with a tired shake of the head.

“Ray,” Ryan growled, “I’m trying to help you. Now here’s the goddamn airplane; open your goddamn hangar.”

Defeated, Ray opened his hangar and let in the plane, which dropped its warm cargo. The soup slid down his esophagus easily, and Ray savored the heat in his belly before his stomach rejected it and sent Ray scrabbling for the recently cleaned bucket.

“N-no good,” Ray choked out, spitting in the bucket.

Ryan sighed. “Okay. We’ll try again later. But for now, just drink.”

He opened a bottle of water and handed it to Ray, who first rinsed his mouth of residual bile before taking little sips, and Ryan was relieved that the water managed to stay down.

As Ray drank, Ryan unpacked his basket. Ray’s ragged breaths were soon accompanied by the whirring of the humidifier, and Ryan’s pillow sat slumped in a corner with an old blanket while another much thicker blanket was wrapped about Ray’s shoulders.

“Here.” Ray shakily held the half-empty bottle out to Ryan, who took it and set it to the side. “Uhh, Ryan,” he mumbled.

“Yeah?”

“I, um,” Ray looked away, red-faced. “I need to shit.”

“Oh, uh, okay,” Ryan said awkwardly, standing. “I’ll go… get you some more pillows.”

“No, Ryan…” Ray sighed. “I need help.”

“Right, right, of course,” Ryan said quickly. He leaned down and lent his strength to Ray, pulling him upwards and helping him to the bucket.

“You’ll… have to hold me up…”

Ryan complied, and when Ray was done Ryan pulled him back to his nest of blankets and pillows on the floor.

“Don’t sleep yet,” Ryan commanded, and ascended the ladder to again empty the bucket.

When he came back, Ray was still awake, but his shoulders shook with tears.

Ryan was by his side instantly. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just so fucking… _humiliated_ ,” Ray sniffed. “I’m a grown fucking man… and I can’t even—”

“Shhh…” Ryan hugged him. “You’re sick, Ray, you can’t fault yourself for that.”

Ray whimpered, too tired to argue. He clung to Ryan for a few minutes, and then Ryan gently lay him down and tucked him in.

“Now,” he whispered, “I want you to sleep. You need it.”

Ray nodded, eyes red. “Ryan…”

“Mmhm?”

“Have you decided… how you feel about keeping me? ‘C-cause if you’re gonna kill me… I’d rather it be before I suffer too much…”

Ryan rubbed his eyes. “I… I don’t like it. It feels wrong.” He looked down at Ray’s sniveling face. “I’m letting you go.”

Ryan knew it was irrational to think that Ray wouldn’t go to the cops—after all, even though Ray himself hadn’t been killed, there have been others before. But Ryan couldn’t bring himself to silence Ray. And besides, he had faith that Ray would keep his mouth shut.

Ray gave a dry chuckle. “Bummer. This fucking blows.”

Ryan smiled sadly and pet Ray’s hair. “I’m gonna make you better. Trust me. Now sleep.”

Ray burrowed deeper into his cocoon and closed his eyes.

Something Laurie had told Eli popped up in Ryan’s head. “Lay on your side and keep your mouth open.”

Ray cracked open an eye and made a questioning face.

“Well, you have a bug right?” Ryan explained sheepishly. “So, er, if you keep your mouth open, it can fly out. And you’ll be better.”

Ray groaned. “Ryan, I’m a little too tired for your fancy metaphors…”

The older man rolled his eyes. “So you don’t choke on your own vomit,” he said. “My wife told that to Eli once. The bug thing, I mean. Obey the Mad Queen.”

Ray’s snort turned into a brief coughing fit, but he struggled to his side anyways, and his soft rattling breaths soon filled the pit.

Ryan smiled and made his own pseudo-bed.

\--

It was three days before Ray felt well enough to climb, and another two until Ryan deemed him well enough to get out of bed.

The windows of Ryan’s house were thrown open to welcome the unseasonal breezes that would pass now and then. The cicadas sung their timeless ballad of heat and life. And Ray felt new again.

When he wasn’t sleeping, Ray spent most of his time on the couch (where he’d normally be on any other day anyhow) with Ryan, playing games or watching movies. Ryan always let him choose.

Ray was grateful. He had made a connection with Ryan over the past week. He wondered why he had ever seen a threat in the older man. Of course, he’d known the whole time that Ryan would never hurt him. And he couldn’t help what he was doing anyways. It was hardwired into his brain, as much a part of him as the darkish tint that colored Ray’s skin.

_I feel bad for the guy._

Michael Cera stammered awkwardly to Mary Elizabeth Winsted. Ray looked over to his captor/nurse. The gent watched the screen intently with narrowed eyes. His fingers rubbed at Ray’s scalp just the way he liked it. Ray smiled and turned back to the movie.

_Not a bad guy at all._

\--

The eve of Laurie and Eli’s return brought a sort of melancholy to Ryan, like the way a child feels after his mother confiscates a favorite toy.

Though Ray had been well enough to go home for a while, he had opted to stay in the Haywood household until the end of Ryan’s freedom from his family, only leaving to retrieve more tee-shirts and shorts.

Ryan supposed the past week had to have been one of the most turbulent in Ray’s life—from the threat of murder to the brink of death to movies on the couch with his would-be killer. The older man was glad he decided a friend’s life is something to be preserved.

Ray seemed undisturbed by the fact that he had been kidnapped and held in a hole for days, his life in the hands of a man with a chemically fucked-up brain. Hell, he laughed and joked with Ryan as if their relationship had acquired deeper meaning—and perhaps it had.

Life radiated from him like the shimmering waves of heat on pavement. Ryan thought that maybe Ray had gained a new appreciation for living. Ray had said before that he had his dream job with amazing friends and family, but that doesn’t mean shit when there’s a knife at your throat. It is only when you are spared that you realize just how precious your life is to you.

Their last evening alone together was humid but pleasant. Ryan grilled burgers (mediocre compared to Geoff’s godly barbeque, but still good) and Ray set up a _Monopoly_ board.

“This isn’t half as bad as the Let’s Play,” Ray observed as he counted the funds he had accumulated. It was three times Ryan’s stash. “No one’s hitting that ‘Accounts’ shit.”

Ryan grinned and sipped his beer. “Who won that one?”

“Geoff.”

“What a hollow victory.”

\--

The drive to Ray’s apartment was relatively quiet. The car had a somber atmosphere about it. The windows were cracked to welcome the warm breezes from beyond the glass. Some 80s song emitted softly from the speakers— _Queen, maybe,_ Ray thought, but he could be mistaken.

Ray didn’t want his time with Ryan to end. The southerner was a fascinating man with a fascinating mind. And Ray was touched that he had had such an impact on Ryan’s thoughts.

He didn’t hate Ryan for taking him and using him as an experiment. Now, as far as he was concerned, he had just been doing him a favor.

He genuinely felt sorry for Ryan and his lack of control over what he was. He hoped the other man could perhaps tame the demons inside of him that compelled him to kill, or that he could grasp the concept of fear and the love of life that normal people felt.

_No, Ryan IS normal,_ Ray insisted to himself. _He’s just a special case._

As Ryan’s car rolled into the complex’s parking lot, Ray heard him sigh. _That’s from an emotion, right?_ He smiled.

Ryan killed the headlights and was quiet for a moment. U2 had replaced the supposed-Queen.

“Ray…” he finally said, and a heaviness resonated with the single syllable. “I really am… really, _really_ sorry about all the shit I’ve put you through. I’m fucking crazy, and I shouldn’t’ve—”

“Dude, it’s _fine_.” Ray cut him off. He flashed him a grin and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. “I should be thanking you for keeping me alive.”

Ryan looked pained. “You shouldn’t have been in danger in the first place—”

“Shh. See you next Monday.”

Ray grabbed his backpack and hopped from the car, giving Ryan a little wave as he turned towards the stairs.

After a few seconds, the building was illuminated once more by Ryan’s headlights, and Ray heard the crunching of tires on rough pavement.

It felt weird being alone in his apartment. Ray threw his bag on the couch and then slumped on it as well, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV.

His eyes watched the screen but his brain didn’t bother processing the pictures presented to it, instead wrapped up in the events of the past week. It was bizarre to think about, the transformation that had occurred between them and within them separately.

The R and R Connection was stronger than ever, he decided. He smiled.

He was content with how things turned out.

_Ryan’s a cool guy._


End file.
